


The Bounty Hunter and the Mercenary

by sharkinterviewee



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A bad case of the feels, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, BAMF Gamora, BAMF Peter Quill, Banter, Begrudging Partnership, Bonding, Bounty Hunter Gamora, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Peter Quill, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Reluctant Allies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Feelings, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Mercenaries AU, Mercenary Peter Quill, Prompt Fic, Protective Gamora (Marvel), Protective Siblings, Rescue Missions, Romance, Starmora AU, Swordfighting, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkinterviewee/pseuds/sharkinterviewee
Summary: “Holy crap dude! You stabbed me!” Peter shouted, not sure if he should focus on how he had a blade buried in his flesh right now or the woman who put it there. It sounded almost like an accusation coming from his mouth, like stabbing him was against the rules. Of this fight where he was trying to kill her, and was now actuallywhiningabout getting stabbed.She raised her eyebrows in what was clearly anare you honestlysurprised look if he had ever seen one.“Yes,” Gamora stated calmly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “You gonna pull it out anytime soon? I’d like to have my blade back.”It was her favorite one. She didn’t have a chance to remove it from his shoulder before she had to jump back to evade him blindly swinging around his daggers like a true idiot.“No! You stabbed me with it!” Peter shrieked, still freaking out about the knife in his shoulder. She hadn’t realized his voice could go that high- it was somehow even more shrill and grating than before. “No!” He shouted again, looking down at the knife in his shoulder, then back up to her. “No! You’re not getting it back! It’s mine now!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt](http://disruptedvice.tumblr.com/post/179346166790/starmora-promp-au-peter-is-an-colded-mercenary)

Peter thought it was luck when he ran into her.

Sure, it was a little coincidental, but he'd seen weirder things in his line of work. The bounty hunter he'd been hired to take out just showing up outside his regular base of operations on Knowhere wasn't the strangest thing considering _her_ line of work. Probably there for a bounty.

He thought he'd been lucky. Most jobs usually took a bit more reconnaissance, especially when it came to someone as skilled and mobile as her. She never stayed in the same place for too long. They were similar in that respect. What he generously referred to as his base of operations was really just his favorite bar on this seedy, crime infested shit hole.

He thought he'd been incredibly lucky when he caught the flash of green out of the corner of his eye, halfway through a bottle of the cheapest liquor Knowhere had to offer when he got a good look and realized that yes, that was Gamora, daughter of Thanos, walking past the dirty, dingy windows that practically came with every building here. Knowhere attracted a certain _unsavory_ element, including the bar Peter was in right now. The people who frequented the particular establishments here were probably a feeding ground for bounty hunters with the right skills. It was just unfortunate for her that she passed by the bar that a mercenary who'd been hired to kill her was drinking in. He'd done his due diligence gathering intel on his upcoming target, but he hadn't even begun narrowing down locations or tracking her movement yet.

Peter thought he was lucky when he saw her just walking down the street.

He should've realized sooner.

Instead, he made a quick exit, settling up his tab and leaving a grossly generous tip rather than waste precious seconds splitting hairs before he stumbled out the door, half worried he had already lost her.

When he'd spotted the whip of black purple hair and signature leather halfway down the block just as she turned the corner, he should've known.

But he didn't catch on until it was too late. He could blame that on the cheap and crude alcohol that had already made its way into his system, but still. He should've known better than to go after someone as good as her when he'd already been drinking.

He should've realized when she didn't look back over her shoulders even once as he surreptitiously followed her. Someone with her history and training would've been paranoid as heck, and certainly watching her own back as she walked through the streets covered in grit and grime with shady dealings happening everywhere you turned.

She didn't check over her shoulder even once. He should've known something was up. But no, when she made her way through one of the alleyway openings that littered the streets of Knowhere and opened to a secluded back balcony, he just followed her like an idiot.

He didn't even have time to turn his head before she got the drop on him, coming out of nowhere (or behind the wall, more likely), slamming him into the ground and immediately following up with a punch to the face.

The metallic tang of iron and the unmistakable taste of blood suddenly filling his mouth wasn't unfamiliar to him, hardly, in fact. Spitting the blood out of his mouth and into the soot that had been kicked up by a scuffle on Knowhere's streets- this wasn't anything new to him. Losing the upper hand this early in a fight, being caught so off guard, he was a little less used to this. But he'd always been good at thinking on his feet.

Peter tried to pull his knees up in order to kick her off of him, but it didn't do much good when she was literally pinning him down in the smothering ash. Gamora knew what she was going after though- the gun strapped to his hip. She ticked her lips at his squirming and struggling, but his wild movements and flaying limbs did nothing to dislodge her. Peter soon gave up on trying to throw her off of him and instead focused on landing as much damage as he could with his fists.

Gamora growled and dug the heel of her palm into his solar plexus after her head snapped back from a punch, and it stunned him long enough for her to snatch his blaster and pull back just in time to dodge another blow.

She was already up and away before Peter managed to scramble onto his feet with an empty holster, which he didn't even realize was missing something until he saw it in her hands. After she stole his gun (his favorite!), Gamora then proceeded to drop it over the railing and into the endless void of space.

Peter was completely dumbfounded, but already reaching for the daggers he had hidden under his clothes by pure reflex, his knees bent as he shifted onto the balls of his feet to adopt a fighting stance. He'd have time for mourning the loss of his favorite weapon later. Right now he was getting ready for a fight.

Her eyes flashed with something like amusement. No, not amusement, Peter realized. _Challenge._

* * *

He thought it was lucky running into her just like he did.

Evidently not.

Peter was clearly very unlucky. Even with her skill, he thought the fight would be over soon. Now, as they'd circled each other for probably about the millionth time after another clash of blades, he'd been proven wrong. Every attack and defense was evenly matched, and what he'd thought would be a reasonably quick fight had been dragged out much, much longer with no sign of stopping soon.

He was very unlucky to get a target as skilled as her. This wouldn't be easy.

Especially since she came prepared. Already knew everything about him. Including his favorite weapon that she'd disposed of first thing.

Dropping his gun over the side railings and reducing him to fighting with whatever daggers he had strapped down when she brought a fucking sword to this fight.

He realized he was even more unlucky once he found out this bounty hunter was here for _him._ He had a price on his head, of course he did, and Gamora was set on taking him in. And not letting him kill her in the process. She'd done her research too, it seemed.

She was annoyingly good in combat; Peter would've been impressed if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

In less than 10 minutes of them sparring round in circles (it could've been considered more if they'd done anything other than dance around each other clashing blades) this Gamora, last of the Zehoberi, managed to suss out that he had been hired to kill her for a very princely sum.

So that was interesting. He'd been hired to kill this prolific bounty hunter known simply as Gamora, the most dangerous woman in the galaxy. She'd been hired to to capture, detain, and bring in one Peter Quill, a notorious mercenary who also went by the name of Starlord.

Interesting.

It certainly was not lucky getting paired with someone as good as her. He honestly wasn't sure how this fight was gonna end.

Her eyes were calculating, and every move he made she seemed to predict and have a perfect strike in response to that had him dodging and countering and always on the defense.

How long had they been exchanging blows? From the way his muscles were starting to ache, he'd guess something like half an hour. From the sweat beading on her temple and running down the back of his neck, he'd say 45 minutes.

They were both starting to tire, he could tell as she grit her teeth and twisted her foot in the dirt after being forced back to her side of the makeshift arena, that was really just their trampled footsteps in the soot that lined every inch of Knowhere.

“You know, if I still had my blaster, this fight would be going much differently by now,” Peter claimed with a smile and that cocky attitude he was always sporting, absolutely sure of it as he wiped his brow with his sleeve. His old leather ravager jacket was hot as hell, but no way was he taking it off and giving up what little protection the thick fabric gave him from sharp pointy things like her sword. She'd already sliced through it and drawn blood more than a couple times, and while it sure as hell stung, it was nothing too bad.

He'd maybe caught her skin a couple times with his daggers, but the damage was minimal at best. He only managed to nick her when she came in for a strike on him.

Most of the damage he'd landed on her came from his fists when she had tackled him and they spent a solid minute grappling before she'd wrestled his gun away from him and dropped it over the side.

Gamora sneered. “I'm sure you'd like to think that.”

“No, really, I'm really good with it,” Peter said, smiling like this really was a sparring match between two old friends and colleagues, not strangers trying to take each other out.

Gamora didn't look impressed.

“Your reliance on long range weapons is a weakness. I'll admit, you're a bit better with a blade than I thought you'd be,” the bounty hunter frowned, her brows lowering in displeasure. “No matter. You'll go down just like the rest of them. They always do.”

She leapt at him, burying a dagger that she just pulled out of fucking nowhere in his shoulder, and Peter cried out, ripping away from her and blindly slashing as more of a defensive maneuver than actually aiming for her at all, using his wild movements to cover his retreat back to the railings.

She jumped back, hissing in what he soon realized was pain when he saw the new gash on her thigh and the dark liquid spilling from the wound.

Peter looked down at his shoulder. Her knife was still in it.

“Holy crap dude! You stabbed me!” He shouted, not sure if he should focus on how he had a blade buried in his flesh right now or the woman who put it there. It sounded almost like an accusation coming from his mouth, like stabbing him was against the rules.

She raised her eyebrows in what was clearly an _are you honestly surprised_ look if he had ever seen one.

“Yes,” she stated calmly. “You gonna pull it out anytime soon? I’d like to have my blade back.”

“No! No way!” Peter didn’t know how she could say something like that so normally when he still had a frickin knife in his shoulder. God, that hurt. Still, it’s not like he was gonna give her the common courtesy of returning her knife that was still in him because she stabbed him with it. “No!” He shouted, even louder this time. Shrieked was probably a better word to describe it, actually. “You stabbed me with it! You’re not getting it back! It’s mine now!”

“But it’s my favorite one,” Gamora said, clearly regretting burying her favorite dagger in some asshole that didn’t return weapons used against him. She was standing in the circular opening that led back to the main platform that was otherwise known as his only exit, unless he wanted to take a free fall much the same way his gun had gone into the endless abyss. Check that one off the list.

“Come on, don’t you have better things to do?” Peter tried, since negotiating was his specialty (other than the whole mercenary thing). It took everything he had in him to not pull the dagger out of his shoulder that hurt like hell. The instinct to cover his wound with his hand was near overwhelming, he knew that would help at least a little bit, but his right hand was kinda busy holding _his_ favorite dagger, AKA his best defense right now against her bigass sword. His brain kept telling him that his shoulder would stop killing him if he pulled the knife out of it, but he knew his brain was stupid, and removing the knife was the quickest way to death via copious blood loss. No way was he giving her back the knife that was currently stopping him from bleeding out. He still had his second dagger in his left hand too, but he didn’t know how useful that would be since he was pretty sure it would hurt like hell just trying to move his left arm right now. “I can’t be the only bounty offered in this system. Hell, there’s gotta be at least 15 other guys on Knowhere alone who have over 50,000 unit prices on their heads! They’ll be much easier to take in than me, I promise. Why don’t you go after one of them? How is this worth the trouble for you? Don’t give me any nonsense about me being the real bad guy here or some morality shtick, I know the kind of work you used to do for Thanos. How can this job be worth it for you? If you think this is just the start of my annoyingness, watch out sister, cause I can become a whole lot more inconvenient than what you’ve seen. I can pay you twice as much as whatever the going rate on my head is these days. Staying in this fight with you isn’t worth it for me anymore either. So let’s just settle this like the business transaction it really is.”

Gamora's jaw ticked and her eyes narrowed at the mention of the mad Titan’s name. He was hoping that would throw her off. He’d done his research too, before accepting this particular commission. He knew she wasn’t exactly the most willing of Thanos’s soldiers back in the day. But he was sure this wasn’t a morality crusade given her history, and he didn’t see how it could be personal, so all that’s left was monetary gain. Which was good, because those motivations were much harder to persuade from doing something other than killing/capturing him.

Gamora scoffed. “Nice try. I’m not trading you in for _money,_ ” she sneered, spitting into the dirt. “You won’t be bribing me off like any of the other officials and hunters who’ve let you get away before. You’re merely collateral, Quill. In a trade. You have nothing to offer me that I want. And you’re not talking your way out of this one.”

“Come on, why not?!” He whined in the most childish manner she had ever seen an adult man emulate. He looked two seconds away from stamping his feet in the dirt and throwing a full blown temper tantrum.“You didn’t even think about it! You won’t even let me try! Just tell me what you’re getting, _then_ you can have the satisfaction of shooting me down. Give me a fair chance to give you an offer!”

She knew he was just trying to buy time as they started circling around each other again. And it wasn’t until they started back at their slow and wary dance of keeping their distance and watching each other that she realized just how deep his slash had gone in her leg. Her mods were designed to keep her alive in near death situations, but even the nanotechnology with rapid response and healing factors still needed time to repair her muscle that felt like it had been sliced clean through. With the amount of blood and placement, she was lucky his blade didn’t nick her femoral artery. Buying herself a few minutes to let the nanobytes repair what they could would probably be best overall instead of pushing her damaged muscle fibers further by moving at anything faster than a walk right now. He didn’t have to know how bad her leg was.

“Do you have a brother? A sister?” Gamora asked, even though she already knew the answer. Everyone knew that Starlord had no family, no friends, and no allies. He was alone. He only looked out for himself.

“No.”

“Then I do not expect you to know how it feels to be faced with losing your family, Terran,” she spat venom, and didn't notice how her words made his footsteps falter, his movements stutter.

“My sister faces execution for her crimes, but the Sovereign have offered a trade. I get her if I bring you to them. And I’m not leaving here without you, Starlord.”

“The Sovereign? Oh man, I hate those guys!” Peter whined, and for a moment she was taken aback by his sudden shift in tone, how his voice was that of whining to a friend, not someone he's trying to kill who's trying to capture him for a bounty. It was a different voice than the one he had been using up till now. Before it was still clearly the voice of a practiced liar trying to talk his way out of something and negotiate for his life. Now she didn’t know what it was… just different.

His tone was so casual and genuine compared to his previous words that it was distracting and disconcerting in a way that didn't make sense to her.

“They’re such assholes!” Peter exclaimed, and even though she was inclined to agree, and that she wouldn’t be doing business with them if Nebula had not been caught trying to steal those stupid batteries, she wasn’t going to _say_ that.

The, once again, very immature mercenary pursed his lips, then sighed. “You’re really not leaving here without me, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she confirmed easily.

“You know, if you hand me over to the sovereign, they’re gonna execute me, right?”

“Not my problem. If you expect me to have sympathy for a mercenary such as yourself, Starlord, then you are mistaken.”

He nodded, as if conceding her point. Peter held up his hands, still carrying both his blades. “Okay, I’m just gonna call a temporary truce and back up to this here balcony so we can talk without circling each other like a bunch of idiots,” Peter claimed, taking the few steps back until he was against the outer balcony before he leaned up against it, relaxing in his stance. Gamora watched him warily- she didn’t trust him farther than she could throw him. And while she knew they wouldn’t come to a solution, she took a few steps back too, her leg quite thankful for the opportunity to rest.

“Alright, so fair point. But you hate the sovereign too, right? I saw your face twitch when I said that! You think they’re assholes too!”

Gamora only scowled in response, immensely displeased that he had been able to read anything on her face. She supposed he was good at what he did, as much as she would hate to admit it. People reading. He had a whole list of tricks that she knew she would do poor to dismiss or write off just like that. There was a reason he was still around after all these years, why he’d never been captured, why he was the most well known mercenary in a business with an extremely high turnover rate, why he had a body count higher than most armies. She’d do good not to forget that. He was good at what he did. But so was she. She was better.

“My opinion regarding my current employer does not matter. Neither does yours,” Gamora said, making sure her expression was nothing more than absolutely neutral.

“They give you a deadline?” Peter asked her, a spark of something just beyond his eyes that screamed trouble.

“Two weeks.”

The smirk that spread across his face at that was so insufferable that she didn’t know how he didn’t make his way through life riddled with holes. Someone who smirked like that had to get stabbed all the time. It was probably a daily occurrence for him. She wanted to stab him again for it. If she had a blade to spare, she would’ve flung it at him right then and there. As it was, her only dagger was in his shoulder (she was still working on how she was gonna get that back) and she wasn’t gonna let go of her sword anytime soon. Still.

She could practically see the gears turning in his head, and the way his smile widened gave her a feeling of malaise that even Thanos couldn’t strike in her. His smirk only grew, and from the smugness inherent in it, he clearly thought he’d gained some ground on her.

“Okay, maybe you take me in in the end, maybe you don’t,” Peter nodded his head side to side, as if weighing the likelihood. She’d noticed he’d slipped back into his easy going negotiation voice. That subtle shift let her know she wasn’t going to like the way this was heading. “You and I both know we can drag this fight on for days, and you don’t have that kind of time if you wanna make it to Sovereign space before they kill your sister. You know how much they suck. On the way isn’t good enough for them.”

“Do you ever shut your mouth?”

“Nope,” Peter grinned. “So how about we make an alternative arrangement?”

“I should just shoot you now for thinking I’m dumb enough to fall for you trying to talk yourself out of this so _desperately_ right now.”

“Ah, but you haven’t even pulled out that nice little blaster on your hip, have you. Now why is that?” He asked in a lilting, sing song voice, tapping his finger on his chin. Gamora snarled, and if glares could kill, he would so be dead right now. “Could it be they want me brought in alive?” He continued, voice going higher, and eyes widening for effect. “And relatively undamaged?”

Gamora’s trigger finger just itched to pull out her gun and shoot him in the face.

“Ah, got it in one,” Peter smiled, so infuriatingly smug. She was certain it was on purpose. No one could be this much of an insufferable smartass without being completely deliberate. Peter sounded like he was already gloating, in the most infuriating way manageable. He tapped his nose, then pointed at her. “If there’s two things I know about the Sovereign it’s that they like their people pretty and their executions public.”

He had clocked the gun she had strapped to her side pretty early on in the fight and tried to get ahold of it whenever they were close enough, but he’d never even gotten close to grabbing whatever blaster made the vaguely gun shaped outline at her hip. He kept wondering why she didn’t pull it out. Dead or alive bounties were common in this business, and knowing who he was, he would’ve assumed that everything on his head stipulated that bringing in his dead body would’ve been fine. But this wasn’t just anyone offering a bounty on him. This was the Sovereign. That changed everything. He’d pissed them off too many times to count, and they wanted to make a _spectacle_ of him.

“There’s a reason they hired a bounty hunter for this job, and it isn’t for your fighting ability. Though for real, if you quit your job and got into mine, you’d make a killing in the mercenary business,” he said, trying to pay her a compliment, but she didn’t look amused. He went on, unperturbed. “That’s besides the point. There’s a reason they hired a bounty hunter instead of a mercenary, and it’s not just because I’m the best mercenary in the galaxy. It’s because they don’t want me taken out, they want me taken _in._ ”

“And what are you proposing?” Gamora finally asked, if only to stop his incessant bragging, even though every bone in her body was telling her not to. Telling her no, no, no, it’s a trap, don’t engage, this is how he ensnared everybody else. Don’t underestimate him.

“Simple. I go with you, of my own free will, we leave right now, and we’ll make it to Sovereign space in 12 days or so. Then we break your sister out of their pretty little golden jail and we skedaddle, and no one dies. Your sister’s saved and you don’t actually turn me over in the end, and I don’t face public execution. Good idea, right? How’s about it?”

“No,” Gamora said immediately, didn’t even need to take the time to think about it. Peter’s face fell in utter disappointment. “You’re going to kill me the second I turn my back on you.”

“Nuh-uh!” He argued, like a mature, reasonable adult.

“There’s a reason they hired a mercenary and not a bounty hunter for this job,” she parroted his words back at him in a vicious, mocking tone. “You think I don’t know the work you do, Quill? I found you after all. I know you better than anyone who’s ever come after you before. And I know anyone who thinks they can trust you is a fool. Sorry I won’t be as easy to kill as all your other victims. Cause you’re _my_ bounty. And I _know you,_ Peter. Preserving your own life isn’t a good enough motivation for you, cause there’s only one thing you care about. You don’t make any money off of letting me live. Don’t think you can bat your pretty eyelashes and have me convinced just like all the rest that you’re as lucky and dumb as you want everyone to believe.”

“You ever get tired of it? You ever want someone to notice how clever you are? How everything goes your way because you plan and practice, and it’s never luck but skill, but you wouldn’t get away with things nearly as easily as you do if you broke your charming goofy little rascal facade, would you?” Gamora taunted. “The unassuming dumb luck sort of guy works out much better for you than the unbearably clever Peter Quill who notices things and always seems to just barely escape in the nick of time. I know you, the _real you._ So no, I won’t be taking your offer. I know you rely on people underestimating you, so let me assure you that won’t be happening here. And you won’t be talking your way out of this one. There’s only one thing you care about, and you don’t make enough money out of letting me live. I’m not stupid enough to believe your story for a moment.”

She was more than pleased with how that seemed to wipe the smirk right off his face. He didn’t have a comeback this time, and her inner competitiveness was feeling great about beating him in this verbal sparring match, even though their physical match was ongoing.

Peter hesitated to speak, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. His expression was so serious she’d begun to wonder if she had broke him. It was a complete change that overtook him. His shoulders slumped forward, body language closing in on himself as he stared at the ground in quiet thought. Rather than the calculating look he tried to hide before, this look was openly thoughtful.

“Okay, but your sister got caught trying to steal the Anulax batteries, right?” He asked, finally looking up at her. The surprise must have shown on her face, because he smiled, kindly, and answered the question that she hadn’t yet asked. “They always leave them so unguarded. I swear it’s just bait that they leave out all so they can get on their high horse every time someone tries to steal them. They’ve spent a hundred times more hiring people to defend those stupid things than they would if they had invested in some simple security for their prized batteries 10 years ago.”

Gamora was even more furious at Nebula than she had been for falling for such a trap, but then again, all of her research into the Sovereign didn’t even hint at what Peter was implying. For some reason, she didn’t doubt him, though. Well, for one, he’d immediately known it was the Anulax batteries that her sister was captured trying to steal, when the Sovereign had many high value items that they publicized and would be much more logical targets. But she had a feeling there was a different reason that she didn’t doubt Peter’s claim right now. She just didn’t know what it was.

“The batteries would be what- a quarter mill on the open market?” Peter looked up, doing the mental math in his head. “Considering how the only thing I care about it money, that’ll be enough to recoup my losses on what I would’ve made upon completion of well, you. Besides, this was kinda fun,” Peter waved his hand between them, smiling. He actually had a kinda nice smile when he wasn’t being a dick about it. “I was thinking it would’ve been a shame to kill you 40 minutes ago. Now I am a little less sure of if I would come out on top in this fight. But we could drag this out until your motivation is moot. Sovereign space is a 12 day trip from here, minimum. Even if you managed to capture me and get me onboard your ship, I wouldn’t go easily. It’s in everybody’s best interest for me to go with you willingly. So money plus the satisfaction of screwing over those golden D-bags sounds like fun. And I think you’ve proven not killing you will be _much_ easier for me than killing you. I’ve already got a knife in the shoulder,” he shrugged his uninjured one, trying not to move the one that still had her favorite knife in it. “The Sovereign are such assholes, and I’m a very petty man. They put a bounty on my head, how could I not want to get them back for that? The batteries are like a 4th of the commission I would’ve gotten from this job, but I can make up that difference easily in no time flat. My business is always in business. I think I would be sad not to get to see your scary face again anyway. So saving us the trouble seems like it’s in both our best interests, yeah? You make it back to Sovereign space before your deadline's up, we rescue your sister and that’ll really piss those assholes off, and adding insult to injury we grab the Anulax batteries on the way out the door. I don’t get executed, and I don’t get stabbed by you again. That sound like a good plan to you?” Peter offered, almost looking hopeful. Sincere.

Gamora knew she couldn’t fall for it. How convincing he was right now was exactly what everyone else he’d ever screwed over thought.

Even though she was kinda impressed to find out that someone paid a million units to have her killed, and she was more than a little curious to find out who.

“Nope, not good enough,” she refused, trying to ignore how the way his face fell made her want to frown even more. “Try and come up with a better story for you motivation. We both know that’s not enough. This is getting pathetic. I thought you were better at making up things on your feet. Or maybe try giving me one, just _one_ reason to believe you. You haven’t given me any reason to trust you,” she maintained with a scoff. She didn’t want to let on that she was getting more uncertain of her decision to never trust him no matter the circumstance. He had a point, she didn’t have time to waste.

She narrowed her eyes, looking over his shoulder at the backdrop of perpetual twilight behind him. The illusion of endless night and scores of stars that was Knowhere's only redeeming aspect just seemed to drive home the time limit. 12 days. She couldn't waste time on this suspended wasteland that didn't even have a star to orbit.

But she knew- she could tell that everything he listed wasn’t the real reason behind his offer. She knew she couldn’t trust him. When was he going to get it?

Peter was silent for a moment, looking down as he thought. He absentmindedly rubbed the heel of his palm on his pants as some sort of self soothing gesture, but any conflicting feelings he had were pushed to the side and replaced with certainty when he lifted his head again. His face now somber and serious as he looked her dead in the eye and said “You aren’t the only one who’s lost someone.”

His eyes were heavy and clear and _earnest._

Gamora knew it was the first honest thing he’d said to her all night. What he said earlier, about not wanting to kill her, about selling the batteries, every part of his negotiation, all of that may have been truthful, but it wasn’t honest.

These were the first honest words he’s said to her.

And _damn it._ She was really going to do this, wasn’t she?

“We’re taking _my_ ship,” Gamora snarled. “I don’t trust you in yours.”

Peter’s eyes lit up like nothing she’d ever seen, and the resulting smile that spread across his face just made her feel confused, but not annoyed or angry. She tried to cover it by scowling though, and he quickly joined her by her side. Her hand tightened around the hilt of her sword at his sudden closeness. But he just waited for her to lead the way.

“Smort,” Peter nodded, smiling again. One of his easy and eager smiles, eyes alight with humor and maybe even excitement. “That’s probably for the best. Now which way to your ship?”

She felt more than a little uneasy about this agreement, but she'd already made her decision. She motioned for him to lead the way out of the alley, since she didn't trust him enough to turn her back to him. Peter didn't look surprised or even offended.

And, back on the streets of Knowhere, Peter fell into step next to her as they walked, his injured side closest to her, so he’d have to use his far arm if he were to pull anything. Somehow, she was certain that was on purpose. Joining her on her right side (her sword wielding side) and having his injured arm closest to her. It was a small, subtle thing to make him seem less threatening to her, and a minute display of trust. Standing on her dominant side, while she was still wielding her weapon, and her dagger still buried in his left shoulder as he walked next to her. It was a minor display of trust, of vulnerability, walking so close to her when she could easily use his injury against him and it would be too late for him to defend himself with his right arm. And she knew it was completely intentional. From the little knowing smile playing at his lips, he wasn't trying to hide it. He wanted her to know.

She had a feeling she was going to regret this, but she wasn't going to turn back now. Gamora was going to save her sister, and she was going to use him to do it.

Whatever it took. She wouldn't fail Nebula again. And she wasn't going to let a stupid jerkass mercenary get in her way, either.

And if their first interaction was anything to go on, it certainly wouldn't be easy spending 12 days on a ship with someone as annoying as him without throwing him out the airlock, but she could make it through. She always did.

Still. This was set to be a long 12 days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peter three days later* “Wait, did she call me pretty?”
> 
> Technically the prompt didn't specify that Peter and Gamora be sent after each other, but I thought it was more fun this way.


	2. Chapter 2

Once they boarded her ship, she took all his stuff. Actually, he had to surrender the knives he had used in their fight before she would even open the hatch.

“I've got another one strapped in my boot,” Peter said in the interest of full disclosure, since he was pretty sure she was gonna pat him down anyway, and it'd be a stupid reason to lose her trust (what modicum of it he even had) by not telling her about the knife she'd surely find on his person.

And yup, he was right.

Once they got to the main area Peter sat down to divest himself of his hidden weapon and handed it over to her, and she still insisted on him removing his jacket while she patted him down for any other suspicious items. Which he got. Didn't make a big fuss over it- she had her reasons to distrust him, he'd only been hired to kill her after all.

Gamora also confiscated his bag, rooting around in it to check for tracking devices or other such beacons, but found nothing immediately suspicious in it. She was still going to stow it away in one of her many hidden safes so she could perform a more thorough inspection of the contents later- there were some weird benign Terran items that would need a closer examination.

“You mind getting me a med kit while you're at it?” Peter called out to her from the other room. “I mean, if you want your knife back and all.”

Gamora sighed and shut the safe, locking it, before shuffling around for her med supplies and bringing some back to him.

She half expected him to be gone the moment she walked back in the room, but no, he was still there, right where she left him.

Gamora tossed him the med kit upon her return, which Peter used both hands to catch, then winced and exhaled sharply in pain at moving his injured shoulder.

She didn't offer to help him when he started peeling back the sleeve of his shirt, finally he gave up and just ripped it, and hissed in pain when that of course agitated the injury. Ripping off his sleeve had the effect of the knife still buried in him wiggling and moving around, which she knew from experience wasn't pleasant. The handle of a knife being moved or even bumped just the slightest bit when the blade was still buried up to the hilt in your body hurt like hell.

Still, she watched him from the other side of the narrow med bay in total silence.

Peter had already set out a disinfecting agent and a minor cauterizing torch in preparation before actually removing her knife from his shoulder. Once he had all the supplies he was going to use laid out, he just stared at the knife in his shoulder for a sec.

“This is gonna suck,” he muttered under his breath. His hand hovered over the hilt and he wiggled his fingers, preparing himself and prolonging and procrastinating the inevitable. Then he grabbed the knife, made sure he had a good grip, exhaled, and just pulled it out.

He groaned and let her bloody knife clatter to the counter with a satisfying clatter. “Shit, fuck,” he hissed, grimacing in pain as he uncorked his wound and was bleeding a fair amount as he used the disinfectant spray over the whole area. Peter flicked off the cap of the cauterizing torch and went about closing the wound with the familiarity of someone who'd been in this position many, many times before.

Gamora was almost impressed by how he handled that. She expected him to be a lot more whiny. But he went about that with the ease and efficiency she would had she been stabbed (though she would not have needed to curse or let out any pained noises like he had, she was better than that).

Peter looked up, saw her staring at him, and didn't seem surprised. That she thought she had to stay and watch and supervise her ‘prisoner' when letting him have access to a torch so he could give her her bloody knife back.

Peter shuffled around in the med kit, looking to see if there was anything else useful that would help, but nope, he'd just got the worst of it taken care of. Everything else that hurt just needed some good rest.

Deciding he was done patching himself up, Peter asked her “You want anything for your leg? Is it all better now?”

Gamora hissed, shifting back onto her aforementioned leg. “How did you know?”

It didn't look that bad from the outside, and she didn't think he had realized how much that blow had injured her. She was sure of it.

Now surprised, suspicious and wary as she narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze cold and hard.

Peter shrugged. “I notice things.”

That's what she had said, wasn't it? When she was taunting him. Peter Quill who noticed things.

Like he noticed the slight change in the way she had been carrying herself after that maneuver that ended with a gash on her leg, how she favored her other more heavily afterwards, how her stance had differed. And how she seemed more comfortable on it and her stance more even after they had made it through that colorful negotiation, how her stride adjusted slightly bit by bit as the walked back to her ship, leading him to guess that she either had crazy fast healing abilities or technology assisted healing factors.

He noticed things.

* * *

It was… strange. After taking off and setting in the coordinates and switching from manual to putting the ship on autopilot for their journey, she realized she didn't quite know what she was going to do with him.

She never had guests on her ship, only prisoners, and she could just toss them in the lock up (which had noise canceling capabilities). She'd never even thought about flying with another person- she'd always traveled alone and much preferred it that way.

What did people _do?_

She couldn't imagine being part of a crew and having to exist on a ship with the same people day in, day out. Gamora hated people. How did people do this all the time? Travel vast quantities of space with another person on their ship?

They'd just taken off and already it was a nightmare.

Did people like- talk or something? That was the only way this situation could get worse. Clearly, Peter Quill was a person who would not shut up if he started talking, so she was planning on avoiding the opportunity for him to open his mouth at all costs. How did people keep it from getting awkward when they were transporting not-prisoners? They hadn't even left an hour ago and already it was feeling weird and uncomfortable.

“So… dinner?” Peter asked.

* * *

Of course she didn't trust him at all, so he pretty much had a supervisor at all times. She didn't trust him to not sabotage her ship or something if she took her eyes off of him. That's what led to Gamora sitting at the table and just watching him cook something up out of the spare ingredients she had that weren't ration bars. He offered to make some for her, but that was a hard pass for her.

“Hey, do you have a knife?” Peter asked over his shoulder.

Gamora scoffed. “I'm not giving you a knife.”

“I meant a kitchen knife,” he turned to her holding up the yarrow root in hand. “I need this cut up. You gonna do it if you don't trust me with a knife?”

Gamora's first instinct was to refuse, but then she remembered how they got to this moment. Initially she had turned down his request to use the kitchen to cook a meal and just handed him a ration bar.

Then he kicked in with the whining and an hour later she was left with the choice of letting him cook his damn meal or killing him now, because she could not listen to him whine like a child for one more second.

Gamora sighed and got up with a glare, slipping her blade out of her leather and grabbing the root from his hand to cut it himself.

“Thanks,” he smiled, going back to the pot he was stirring, but she paid him no mind as she started chopping up the root on the counter.

Ugh. Why was she doing this again? Putting up with this insufferable fool?

Oh yeah.

“Who did you lose?” Gamora asked as neutrally as she could. Which was very, extremely neutral (she was a bounty hunter/former assassin after all- one of the many skills she had perfected was keeping a straight, utterly blank face with nothing but apathy slipping through).

“Huh?” He looked up, confused. She wasn't looking at him, instead focusing on the task at hand.

“You said you lost someone. If that's your reason that predicates me trusting you, I want to know who it was. That you lost. Who were they to you?” She could tell, that when he said those words, he had a specific person in mind.

“Oh…” Peter said quietly. “Yeah. My brother. Max. He- he died when I was a kid. When he was a kid too,” his voice dipped down, a little strained, before he cleared his throat. “It was a long time ago,” he said suddenly, with the forced light voice of someone trying to push away unhappy thoughts. “So no, I don't have any siblings. It was before I got taken by the ravagers. Sometimes it seems like everything that happened before then happened to some other person, you know? Not me and certainly not him. Those kids had parents and family that loved them. Like lookin’ at a picture frame of some alternate universe. But… it's just been me on my own for awhile now. Nothing new,” he shrugged, a frown tugging at his lips as his fingers twisted uncomfortably in his jacket.

The silence that filled the air afterward was even more uncomfortable, awkward and heavy, like it was loaded with the weight of memories of ones once loved and lost. The tension from his story was palpable, what just speaking about it had done to the air in the room, suddenly harsher and somehow more forgiving too. It was a heavy topic, and the emotions that came with him sharing that part of himself would leave everyone speechless were it not just the two of them.

It would have been an impressive display at vulnerability if not for one thing.

“Lying,” Gamora said, a little smile of superiority picking up at her lips.

Peter's head shot up. “What? I'm not-”

“Yes, you are, liar. I know you're lying. Save whatever you're about to say next to convince me you're not. I know that's a lie, Quill. Now tell me the truth or you will spend the next twelve days handcuffed to the radiator.”

Peter still looked appalled, offended, and mildly outraged, like any person would who told the truth about their dead brother and was then accused of making it up. He looked like he was about to argue back, but then she glanced over at him, gave him a knowing look, and pointed at the radiator on the other side of the room.

Peter looked to the radiator, then back at her and her severely unimpressed expression, and his eyebrows knit together for a moment.

Then he sighed and dropped the act, his whole body immediately relaxing from the tension it held just moments before.

“How'd you know?” He pouted, slumping forward and narrowing his eyes the same as a child caught in a lie. He _was_ a child caught in a lie.

“I will tell you how I knew after you tell me the truth. About the person you really lost.”

He looked surprised that she was still on that. Like he didn't know how she had realized he was lying about the person he lost, but wasn't lying when he said he lost someone.

Shouldn't she just assume that he was lying about every part? If she knew he was lying about the last part, what's to say he wasn't lying about the whole thing?

Why did she still think he lost someone?

Peter crossed his arms and remained silent for a long while, and Gamora wondered how much of this trip would feel like babysitting.

He huffed, opened his mouth to speak, and-

“Don't even think about telling me another lie, Peter Quill. You don't even have my trust now, but you will lose what little faith I have that you could ever be trusted under any circumstances if you try to tell me another lie right now. I can tell when you're lying. And even if you're sure I can't, do you really want to risk it? This is a tentative arrangement at best that can be supported with a tiny truth or completely broken with the next mistruth you chose to tell me. So choose your words wisely, Star-lord.”

Peter frowned, hesitating, and yup, he was definitely about to lie to her again. He wouldn't need to think about it if he was already planning on telling her the truth when he opened his mouth a few seconds ago.

“Fine. My mom, okay? I was a sad little kid with a sick mom and a dying mom and a dead mom, alright? Happy now?” Peter snapped, ready to hand over his wrists to be cuffed to a radiator cause he'd rather make her lock him up for being an asshole than say one more word on the topic.

She looked over at him, regarding him carefully. It was the most hostile she'd ever seen him. Even when he was trying to kill her, he wasn't even close to this hostile.

Gamora nodded, once, cordial and businesslike. “Thank you.”

It took Peter a few moments to realize she wasn't going to fight with him. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that. With her not getting angry back, with her acknowledging his confession and moving on, like it really was just that easy.

They remained in silence after that. Peter kept sneaking glances at her, looking over at her, couldn't help himself.

He had a feeling she was aware every time he glanced over at her, but she never looked up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out.  
> I ended up cutting what I had planned for chapter two in half cause it was way longer than I expected it to be, and I wanted to get something out in a somewhat timely- manner. And then- today- I ended up cutting the first half in half _again_ so I could post this part today, since the other section/s still isn't done. After the split, the first half was over 7,000 words. Then, like I said, I split it up again, and that's why this update is 2,500 words.  
>  But that length for upcoming chapters is why this has taken so long to get out. Sorry! Thanks for the patience!


	3. Chapter 3

It figures that the first night wasn't easier than the first day had been.

After Gamora informed him that he would be sleeping in lock up, Peter had a few choice things to say about it (complain about it, really).

“Uh! Don't I get any perks for coming of my own free will! Like not sleeping in a jail cell!” He'd already reverted back to his whiny voice, and _this_ , Gamora thinks, is why she travels alone. That among many other reasons. Like the fact that she hated people. This also applied to Peter Quill.

“The perks for coming of your own free will is being able to leave the jail cell during waking hours. At night you will be locked in there, so we can both sleep. I don't trust you not to sabotage my ship or try to kill me in my sleep. So you'll be locked in the brig all night. Unless you have a problem,” Gamora said, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

Peter sighed, relenting. “Can you at least get me a blanket and a pillow?” He asked, eyeing the brig that had a bench and not much else that Gamora normally locked up her live bounties in. “I need my bag too.”

Her denial came swift and easy. “You can't have your bag.”

She'd confiscated it first thing once they'd boarded her ship, even after looking through it to make sure he didn't have anything suspicious like a tracker or transmitter that would lead someone straight to them. She also took his daggers.

Peter had griped about it at the time, but he'd surrendered them willingly. Without too much trouble (just some light whining, cause that's just the kind of person he was). He knew that Gamora needed him alive.

Even if she suddenly ditched their alliance, it's not like he had to worry about her trying to kill him in his sleep. He didn't have to worry about Gamora being the only one with access to weapons when the original terms of her contract stipulated a live and- relatively- undamaged bounty. Gamora betraying him meant that he'd be turned in to the Sovereign in 12 days time- not exactly an immediate concern, all things considered.

Peter, on the other hand, was hired to kill her, so if he were to decide that their alliance was through, going back to _his_ original plan meant the killing her one. If he went back on his word, that meant he'd try to kill her ASAP, so her paranoia was justified.

He whined about having to give up his knives, but he got her point, so he'd surrendered them willingly and whiny. He gave her his bag too, figuring she planned to inspect the contents more thoroughly later.

He didn't think she was gonna keep it the whole time.

“Why can't I have my bag? I'm gonna be locked up the whole time. I already gave you all my weapons- the ones that you didn't throw out into outer space,” he reminded her, still a little sore about losing his favorite gun forever. “You already looked through it. You know there's nothing, like, useful in there. No lock picking devices or extra guns. You can look through it again. I'm gonna be locked in your holding cell all night. Why can't I have my bag?”

“If there's nothing of use in there, then why are you so adamant you have it,” Gamora cocked her hip and gave him a pointed look. Safe to say she doubted his claim. She wasn't taking the risk that one of the seemingly innocuous objects in his bag had a secret use or function that only he knew how to trigger. Or that there was some hidden compartment that was extremely well disguised. Even if none of his possessions were useful on their own, she didn't want him rigging something together that he could use to escape the holding cell from genuinely pointless objects. Peter Quill was an inventive individual, she was sure of it.

He tried to keep his talents under the radar, so to speak. She knew that his lucky sonuvabitch who always escaped just in the nick of time was a well crafted facade, one designed by a skilled and practiced liar. His purposefully downplayed inventiveness and ingenuity was how Peter Quill amounted to a whisper that always slipped through the cracks.

Star lord was a rumor. There was a reason for that. Why Peter Quill wasn't dead or locked up in a jail cell, why everything went his way, why he was still alive despite how shootable she thought his face was.

He was a rumor on purpose, and a magician never reveals his tricks. It would take the magic out of it.

So no, she would not be letting him have access to his bag of tricks.

Peter didn't seem to have an answer for why it was so important that he have access to his bag, which only proved her point.

“That's what I thought. I'm not taking the chance that there's some hidden compartment, or some stupid looking thing that you could make use of to escape. No bag for you.”

He stiffened, his jaw ticking in something like anger that Gamora brushed off as trouble with authority figures (or literally anyone telling him what to do, more likely). He was that type that had a problem with anyone in charge, and wasn't used to being told no.

Gamora wondered when the last time someone told him no actually was. Who said no to a mercenary?

It was just like a spoiled brat who wasn't used to being told no and threw a temper tantrum the first time someone did. Except he was much more dangerous and deadly than a spoiled brat.

Peter's eyes hardened, and everything about his stance screamed confrontational- Gamora wasn't sure if he was going to lash out verbally or if he really was going to break their alliance by physically attacking her over whatever he held so important in that bag of his.

Much to her surprise, he did neither.

Instead, Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. “Can I at least have one thing from my bag,” he said through gritted teeth, a frustrated and aggravated huff on the edge of his voice.

Gamora thought she was getting to know this mercenary, picking up on things, learning how to read him. She was beginning to, if not understand him, understand how he worked. As a person.

His lighthearted and carefree attitude was his base, but his charisma took effort, effort that he wasn't able to expend over things that made him have a genuine human emotion like sadness or pain. When he was getting upset and emotional about something, the real Peter Quill, all the affable and lovable rogue stuff just fell away.

Like how the only time he'd ever been openly hostile was when he was forced to tell her about his mother's death. Keeping up the charming persona was too draining when it involved something that genuinely upset him.

She looked him over again. He still had his head down as he pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out deeply. Still upset, still angry. Jaw clenched and his whole body looked tense. But he was trying to calm himself down, contain himself.

“You might be able to have _one_ item. Maybe. You may not have your bag. I might let you keep one approved item from your bag, alright. If it's not too suspicious looking. Maybe. What do you want from it?”

Peter visibly eased at her allowing him this. Strange. Strange that it mattered so much to him. That anything could be so important. She was beginning to regret her decision, certain it was something he'd use to escape in the middle of the night, when he said “I need my walkman.”

Gamora blinked, screwing up her face in confusion. “What even is that?”

“It's the blue thing with the, nevermind,” he sighed, “Can you just bring my bag out here so I can get it out myself? I'll give the rest of the bag right back. I just really need my walkman…. please…” He added, looking almost as uncomfortable with the word as she was surprised to hear it.

* * *

She gave his bag a quick rummage through before bringing it out to him- nothing looked to be an immediate concern, but she was still wary. Everything in this bag looked useless, actually. Some very old tech paired with some electronics- the most up to date device appeared to be a holographic map. She pulled it out, turned it on, partly out of curiosity, partly to double check that it wasn't a tool merely _disguised_ as a holographic map.

The image flickered to life, static ghosts of a past civilization appeared, the imprinted memory of people milling around played before her eyes. The map read Morag. Interesting.

The rest of his bag appeared to be bits and baubles, things she couldn't fathom why he would keep on his person at all times. A device cobbled together from a scanner and some weird outdated tech she'd never seen before into a functioning data miner was almost impressive. The rest of his bag was just junk.

Now, she was honestly curious which of these useless items he was going to choose. Nothing in here looked like it _mattered._ She was curious to see what he considered so important. Still wary, though. A healthy sense of caution and a tendency to distrust was what kept her alive this long. It was only wise, given the life she'd lived. To doubt everything and everyone. It was better to assume a threat at every angle and be wrong than to assume the opposite and find she was mistaken.

Peter was waiting where she left him, and his eyes lit up when he saw his bag in her hands. Gone was the hardened and aloof exterior that she thought she would be getting into a fight with just minutes ago, replaced by a childish eagerness like she had brought him the best present in the world.

She kept her hands on the bag, but opened it up for him to retrieve _one_ object (that she still might not let him keep if she deemed it too suspicious, remember).

Peter reached in without hesitation and pulled out a hard, blue, rectangular prism with large, clunky gray buttons. Whatever it was, it looked _ancient._

Then he reached into the bag again, which was _not_ part of the deal.

“Hey!” Gamora said, pinching the bag closed around his wrist while he was still digging around in there. “I said one thing!”

“It is one thing! The headphones got disconnected in the bag. I can't even use my walkman without headphones, man. It's one thing.”

She didn't like his choice of words. Use. So his one chosen item wasn't an object but a device. She felt more uneasy about this peace offering by the moment.

Still, she let him pull what he called headphones out before she snatched away the rest of his bag.

Peter connected the cord to the blue rectangle in his hand, then shoved it in her face “ _See!_ One thing!”

Gamora stepped back, looking at it like it might explode.

“What does it do?” She asked suspiciously

Peter laughed. “It doesn't _do_ anything. You use it to listen to music.”

She's never seen such a device. It looks so bulky compared to what a functioning music player should look like.

“Prove it.”

Peter chuckled at her demand for a demonstration, but obeyed, making sure the headphones had been plugged in properly (he kinda just jammed em in there just now), switching it on, and pressing play.

He handed her the band that connected the two orange puffs, but Gamora just looked at it, definitely had no idea how to put it on, probably didn't have any idea it was something wearable. Sometimes he forgot how funny they looked until he remembered that most people had no idea that people actually had to wear something to let them privately listen to music.

“Here,” he said softly, taking them from her. “Can I?” Peter asked, miming putting on the headphones for her, not wanting to just reach out and seem threatening or something.

Gamora thought for a moment, then nodded her permission, and Peter carefully, ever so carefully put the band on her head so the orange puffs covered her ears, and the music finally filtered through.

Gamora listened and, much to her surprise, it wasn't awful.

She was never one for music, didn't have much experience with telling a good song from a bad song either. Of course she'd _heard_ music before, but it was always junk that someone else was listening to that she just wished they would shut off if they played it through speakers that subjected innocent passersby to what they called their ‘taste’.

It had always been noise before.

Now _this_ \- this was music.

The voice reminded her of a lullaby her mother sang to her as a child.

“The melody is pleasant,” she conceded, once she noticed Peter was waiting for her reaction almost anxiously. The smile that spread over his face was soft and warm, and Gamora thought to herself that she got why he didn't want to be separated from this.

* * *

“Why do you not transfer the audio to a universal device? I'm assuming this is Terran, right?” Gamora pulled the orange puffs off her ears with a surprising amount of care once the song had finished. “Why don't you listen to music on, you know, something normal? You know there is technology that could easily capture the audio even from this weird Terran format. Why do you keep your music on something so… immobile and fragile?”

She peered over the device again, weighing it in her hands. It was so bulky for the information it contained, and yet so breakable. The headphones were even flimsy-er. Hard and stiff with no give, but liable to snap with just a light amount of pressure. She almost couldn't wait to get it out of her hands, feeling like it might break just by her holding it.

“It was a gift,” Peter said, taking it back and hooking the device in his belt, a holster he seemed to have just for it. He paused, staring at it once it was settled on his hip, pursing his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was internally deliberating something. “My mom gave it to me,” he said quietly, still looking at the walkman. “I had it on me the day that I, she gave it to me the day she… you know, when I left earth.” Peter finished with a lame shrug.

It seemed this wasn't something he could just shrug off though. He stood there awkwardly, swaying a bit.

Peter swallowed. “Well, thanks for this,” he told her before going to the brig without waiting for her response.

* * *

Oh. That's why.

Maybe she _was_ starting to understand him. His mother's death was extremely painful, and the only time he ever got aggressive was when it came to sharing precious memories about his mother. She understood that a bit too well, feeling a protective swell just _picturing_ having to- for whatever reason- share something from her childhood, like the sound of her mother singing. She understood getting violent over that a bit too much.

Peter only got confrontational when things hit too close to home, and the only thing that hit too close to home were things that had to do with his mother.

Gamora thought maybe she was starting to get him.

* * *

Gamora brought him a pillow and a light blanket, that was at least nicer than the ratty towel scrunched up on the floor in the corner of the holding cell.

Peter had already put his headphones on his own head, walkman still tucked in his belt, looking- almost relaxed. Cooperating easily, without a fight (something she hadn't expected after the way dinner had gone). He went to the bench of his own volition, sitting against the wall with his legs stretched out like it was a cot.

He was clearly already comfortable, his eyes shut and head tipped back, listening to his music. Locked up tonight of his own free will.

Gamora entered the code on the keypad and the shielding slid into place, rending the holding cell impenetrable from the inside- at least _this_ part was familiar to her.

It was a layered locking system. The most advanced part of her ship was this holding cell, because the type of bounties she usually brought in were willing to do anything to escape. Security was one thing that couldn't be crimped, while ration bars instead of full meals was doable.

She stepped back once she entered the last passcode and the system was on lockdown, ready to retire herself.

Peter gave her a small wave, and told her “Goodnight” with a smile.

* * *

Three hours later Gamora found herself awake and staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet of the ship, the steady hum of the cooling system somehow making everything sound more ambient. She figured now was as good a time as any to make patrol.

It was a habit she'd developed. Long before she had a ship of her own, before she was a bounty hunter.

A habit she still did daily (nightly) when she couldn't sleep, patrolling her ship even when she was the only one on it and the navigation was set on autopilot in the middle of… well, space.

Might as well get on that. It's not like staring at the ceiling was doing her any favors. It gave her something to do when sleep never came easy for her. Tonight, though, she felt more reluctant to leave her bed than usual. Sometimes the idea of getting up and officially abandoning trying to get to sleep required more effort than others (even though she knew she wouldn't be falling asleep for another hour or two regardless).

Still, she found the will to leave her awfully inviting blankets and slipped past her door, easing her way into the darkened hall.

Gamora made a sweep of every room, her path routine almost by rote, but she purposely avoided the holding area until it was the only thing left. She moved quieter than necessary, stealthy and creeping on her feet- for some reason, she didn't want him to know that she came back.

Just to check on her prisoner, of course. To make sure he was still there and hadn't escaped, or to catch him if he was in the middle of making a break for it.

But, as she peered around the corner, Peter was still in his cell, in the exact same position she had left him in. Not laying down or even using the pillow that should be considered a luxury when it came to what most of the people who found themselves in that cell received. He was still sitting on the bench, his back to the wall, legs kicked out length wise, orange puffs over his ears.

Gamora took a few steps closer without even making the conscious decision to do so. His eyes were closed, head tipped back against the wall too, and she was certain he had nodded off listening to his device, but then she noticed his head bobbing occasionally, nodding along to his music.

She stood there, watching him, for far longer than she'd care to admit. He looked so... peaceful. It was transfixing.

* * *

Back in the comfort of her own bed, Gamora found herself staring up at the ceiling again, still wondering what song he was listening to.

 


End file.
